#Little Shop of Trannies..

[scriv3lloirl]

Transexualism...

Original under th' cut

[pepsipawz]

i really did move to the pnw to live my tranny faggot dreams that my parents warned me about. and it's awesome

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads Ch 9 (Homelander x OC)

chapter nine: awakenings

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: the world hasn't always been good to you, has it, little spider?

warnings: this chapter contains attempted/foiled SA against a minor, recollections of SA by a main character, and themes of hate-crimes

“– and now that menace is trying to corrupt our greatest hero!”

He fades into the world before his eyes even open.  There’s an awareness of most things.  A body beside him, fuzzy blankets beneath the palm of his hand, a pillow that his face is half sunken into, warmth…

“These arachnid types are all the same!”

And that damn voice…

He blinks slowly, eyelids heavy with the weight of rest the likes of which he hasn’t had in… well, he doesn’t know, really.  Before him is his little spider, phone aloft in his limp hand playing on the lowest volume setting and looping what seems to be a podcast of some sort.

“Junkies, thieves, dangers to society!”

Despite the vitriol, Benjamin seems to have fallen back asleep.  Homelander slips the phone out of his hand and squints.  8:45 in the morning… not quite time to start their day, but certainly a lot later than he normally sleeps.  Not that it matters terribly much.  Friday meetings always happened later in the day.  Other than a photoshoot at two, their day was mostly clear.  

Mostly.

“And now one’s in The Seven!  What were they thinking!?”

The Bugle.  Some low ranking news podcast channel he’s heard of in media demos that constantly begs for him to come on as a guest.  Homelander rolls his eyes.  This guy was less than shit in grass, but, all things considered, shit served more of a purpose.  Just a washed up old editor for a disbanded newspaper company whose name he recycled shortly after they had to close up shop.  Desperate for anything that could lift his views, even if it was just a rank amateur D-lister from some shithole like Cleveland.

Jonamy Ameson was no ordinary angry old man, it seemed.  As Homelander scrolled the VTok page, it appeared that he had a massive personal vendetta against Spider-Man.

“I don’t want that kind of filth swinging around the streets of this great city– nay, this great nation!” 

Every word was shouted with all of the poise of a tantruming child, fists slammed on his desk to rattle the cheap microphone, fingers pointed into the camera.  If the video wasn’t about Ben, about Spidey, it was about Webweaver, Silk Strider, Arachno-Lad– basically any spider type hero was ripe for the picking, but Ameson’s prime target was always Spidey.  

Interesting… 

“To think Homelander would allow such filth on his team!  The lawlessness of it makes me want to simply vomit!” 

Maybe it was worth booking a slot on his little budgetless production to put Ameson in his place.  For now, though… He has Ben’s phone.  Ben’s unlocked phone.  A quick glance finds the bug still out cold, so he gets to work.

Homelander was no aficionado with technology, but he knew one thing.  A person’s cell phone was an absolute gold mine of secrets.  Texts, photos, search history, all sorts of little obscure things he hasn’t been able to deduce from his secret visits and late night observations.

He starts with texts.  The second to last person Benjamin had texted was his mother and, from the looks of it, the conversation hadn’t been pleasant.

-please talk to your brother. he loves you -

-he’s got a real funny way of showing it - 

-he just doesn’t know how. you’re not being nice -

-the last time i talked to him he made sure to accuse me of being part of ‘tranny predator cabals’ but sure, *i’m* not nice -

The conversation seemed to have died there two days ago.  He backs out and opens the most recent.  In it, he finds Benjamin’s chats with his apparent best friend– the same one Homelander watched him have lunch with so long ago.

-i made Homelander mad, idk what to do -

-Duuuuude -

-help 😭😭 i don’t want him pissed at me! -

-I thought you’d want him at a distance after the stalking bullshit -

-i meaaan a few weeks ago yeah, but not really now yk? he’s not bad. kinda cool actually. you seen the pics yet of us running around together?

-Just that one from the other day with the car thieves -

The rest is… interesting.  Ben told of their excursions. Of how scared he was the first time they flew but how he’s started loving it so much– how he’s embarrassed to ask but wants to see if ‘Homie’ would ever bring him up above the clouds at night.

-idk does that sound weird? it might be weird -

-It’s a little weird bro. Shit sounds a lil romantical ngl -

-😭😭 -

A little night trip, eh?  He could do that…  But a romantic flight?  That was… something else.  That the bug didn’t deny it was worth a raised eyebrow or two.  Maybe… No.  No, no… he shouldn’t entertain the thought.  But maybe…

He shakes his head to clear his mind.

Benjamin’s gallery is little more than wanted signs and missing person posters, with maybe a shot or two relevant to his actual life.  A few screenshots of stupid social media posts, a picture of the menu from Patsy’s Pizza…

He’s so fucking ordinary.

Homelander half expected to find rantings and ravings about how much the bug detested their time together.  Something to undermine and dispel the illusion of all of this strange kindness.  Hell, he was even hoping to find a nude or two to send to himself and delete the evidence of such from Benjamin’s phone right after– but there’s nothing.  Even his social media is clean.

With a sigh, expelling emotions he can’t even name, Homelander leans over the bug to place the phone on the nightstand.  And that’s fine until he realizes how close that makes them.  The strangest shiver goes down his spine– a need to curl his arm around Ben’s abdomen and tug him nearer and sink into his very existence.

Their faces are so close.  He can practically taste Ben’s breath and he hardly hates that it carries that morning-time smell with only a whisper of the bug’s toothpaste of choice.  His nose should be scrunching in disgust. Every part of him should be reacting that way.  Instead, he stares at Ben’s lips, imagines what it would be like to slot a leg between his and entwine their limbs.

He’s never woken up beside someone before.

Maeve never stayed.  Never wanted to.  The rare fan usually left right after, was far too fucking annoying to keep around, or just… didn’t survive the prior events.  Even in the more innocent sense, like now, he’s never had this. 

What are you doing to me..?

He leans in closer.

Closer… 

The slightest nudge would touch their lips and he’d know if this was all just his mind playing tricks on him or if it was something… 

Something else. 

The fact Benjamin hasn’t startled awake yet is a miracle.

Homelander’s breaths grow unsteady, chest beginning to rise and fall faster and harder, heart hammering within. There’s something forbidden about it all.  A fruit too sweet to taste that screamed for him to do it anyway.  Could he stop himself?  

Should he?

Eve cast mankind from paradise with a mere bite.  Would the same happen here?  If those gentle eyes happened to flutter open and catch him in the act, would he too be thrown from heaven?

He has to know. He has to fucking know right now.

He flinches the moment their lips touch.  It’s as if Benjamin is pure electricity jolting through his very bones, fire through his veins, air in his lungs and it’s all from a mere brush of flesh.  Homelander’s eyes roll and flutter shut.  He goes back a second time, firmer.  It’s a sensation running hot and cold through his entire body all the to the fog of his mind.

He doesn’t move.  Doesn’t glide his lips further nor allow his tongue to swipe out.  He just lingers there, letting every sensation lap at the shores of his heart, mind, and soul.  It was like water in the desert. Food for a man starved.  Freedom for a caged dog.

Pulling away is the hardest thing he’s ever done.  But he can’t risk it.

He cannot be cast out from Eden.

Meetings had gone from a sore spot of anxiety to no more than a time to daydream.  There wasn’t much to it.  Homelander did the same-old-same-old.  He’d ask about saves, about marketing, about media projects, all the regular stuff.  This time, though, he gets to gloat.

“Well, the bug and I got up to some mischief with a few groups of undesirables this past week.”  He says proudly, shoulders back as he preens before the lackluster attention of the team.  “Media’s been eating it up, Home-Spider's been trending for three days straight. Our approval rates hit a hundred percent this morning.  That’s how it’s done, team. ” 

Homelander’s so giddy– happier than usual by a long shot.  Ben wonders what’s gotten into him.  Even their morning together had been incredibly upbeat.  Granted said morning was a matter of waking up, having a laugh about the absurdity of having had a sleepover without discounting that it was actually enjoyable, offering Homelander a lackluster breakfast of cereal– which he politely denied, and seeing him off as he floated back to his penthouse to get put together for the day. But still. 

Waking up beside him had been interesting.  Seeing Homelander with his eyes shut, sleeping peacefully without a trace of stress, sourness, or even a distant, distracted mind warping his expressions was… 

Well, it certainly brewed a nice warm feeling in the bug’s chest.  The entire fact Homelander had shown up last night took Ben totally by surprise, but it spurred the strangest tidal wave of joy.  Maybe because the ice cream apology worked out, but also just knowing he’d flipped the man who once threatened to ruin his life over to a friend was a source of happiness in its own right.  But it was somehow more.

For so long, Ben’s only friend had been Jase. There was only so much the bug could pester him before he would start to feel like a nuisance.  He’s lost so many people to having a dual life and hiding himself.  All the events he’s walked out on to do the right thing, all the people he’s left behind, every text detailing how his absence was too hurtful to tolerate anymore… and even just the relationships that died naturally.  

Although he was, at first, a suffocating force, Homelander has become the freshest breath of air Benjamin has breathed in a very long time.  Strange how the man who destroyed his perfect balance could become such a thing.

���Now,” leather clad hands come down on Ben’s shoulders and jar him from his thoughts.  The grip is gentle– kind, even. “Spidey and I have to get a move on to cover our obligations, but I fully expect to hear good things from everyone when we meet again on Tuesday.”

Once upon a time Ben would have expected those hands to be slowly crushing his bones in a display of dominance, but they do nothing of the sort. In fact, one drops and Homelander splays the other between Ben’s shoulder blades.  Benjamin looks up and smiles, glancing to the side occasionally to watch the others depart.  Maeve’s lingering gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, but he brushes it off.

“We’ve got that photoshoot next, yeah?”  He asks.

Homelander nods.  “Then some more district patrols. Oh, I’ve got a surprise for you too, but you’re gonna have to wait.”

“You wha–” 

“Ah, ah.  No spoiling it.”  Homelander says with a wag of his finger.  “Now, go do whatever it is a spider does.  I’ve got a quick meeting with Madelyn before we leave.”

“Wait, like– it’s a good meeting, right?”  

“Of course, silly.”

Silly?  That’s a new one.

“Just make sure you’re on the roof when I’m done, ‘kay?”  Homelander leans in, brow arched, voice softer and deeper.  “Otherwise I’ll have to hunt you down.”

Ben’s brows raise and his cheeks tingle with a warmth that spreads a little faster through his body than he’d care to admit. “In that case, c-can I just… give you my number then?”  Smooth. “Not to like, y’know– it’s so you can tell me when you’re done and I can–”

“Mm,” Homelander hums, pulling a phone out from god knows where in his suit.  “That sounds like a super idea, actually.”  He leans against the table and hands it off, eyes locked with Ben's.  “Go ahead, put it in.” 

Woah… is he– why’s he being so…

The bug taps away to create the contact, sends himself a message, and hands it back.  Homelander peers at the screen for a moment before snorting a little laugh.  Probably because of the contact name.  

‘Ben 🕷️ 🤠’ 

“Behave yourself, Benjamin.” Homelander says as he stands once more, turning on his heel to leave.  He gets to the door’s threshold before he turns back. “Oh, and don’t put my name in your phone as something weird.  You fuckin’ Gen Z’s are always doing that.”

Oh, now it’s just pure fucking temptation.

“No promises.  Homie.” 

“Hope you didn’t blink.  That’d just make us look bad.”

“I’m wearing a mask, you dipshit!” Ben cackles, releasing one web to tether another.  “What if you blinked, huh?”

“Please,” Homelander scoffs as he floats along.  “I’m perfect.  I would never do such a thing.”

“Suuure. I bet.”  The bug lets off at just the right angle to land on a low building.  On the streets below, students were just letting out from a nearby high school and their far-off chatter filled the air around them.  

Homelander touches down right next to Ben and shoots him a smug look.  The teasing had been going on back and forth since they first left Vought Tower.  Nothing crazy.  In fact, it had all been perfectly good natured.

The day had been absolutely wonderful.  They’d even snagged some churros once the shoot ended and ate them on top of the Empire State Building.  Of course, Homelander complained about the low quality of the ‘meal.’  He was, after all, a man of refined tastes accustomed to steak and lobster and whatever other fancy-pants cuisine the chefs on floor twenty-two cooked up.  

“What, you didn’t know you could do custom orders?”

“No!” Ben whined.  “The fuck?  You mean you can just get anything, and it’s like– it’s free!?”  

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Homelander asked, giving the street vendor food a concerned sniff.

“‘Cuz it’s fuckin’– it’s so fancy, dude!”  The bug throws his head back in theatrical agony.  “My god, I’ve been eating lunchables and ramen this whole time.  What the hell...”

“I don’t– why the fuck would it even matter if cost anything?  It’s not like you’re poor anymore.”

“Old habits, Homie.” Ben gripes.  “Once you’ve lived off’a jarred marinara and dollar store spaghetti for a month because you fucked up your budget, you just kinda get conscious of spending, y’know?”

“Nope.”  Homelander snorts.  “I would not know.  That sounds disgusting.”

“Mm.” Comes a hum that breaks Ben from the joyful memory.  “Sounds like a kerfuffle closer to the school.”

“Wanna check it out?” 

“Just kids,” Homelander says.  “Sounds like the pecking order is just establishing itself.”

The bug just looks at him.

“Fine.”  Homelander grabs Ben at the waist and propels them into the air, zipping all the way to a rooftop overlooking some rank alleyway where a gaggle of youths jeered at another, shoving him back and forth between the circle they’d formed around him.  

“Let’s see it, pussy boy!”

“C’mon, you say you’re a real man!  Shouldn’t be that hard to prove it.”

A girl stands off to the side, phone pointed at the scene while she laughs in gleeful joy.

Ben jumps down with no care to slow his fall. The concrete crackles below him, drawing away all the attention. 

The crowd parts with gasps of awe and horror, and in the center is an older boy frozen in place, hands mid-tug on a younger boy’s shirt.

Benjamin inhales deeply, holds it, then lets it go.  They’re kids– remember that they’re just kids.

The girl holding the phone points it in his direction, quaking.  With a thwip, he snags it from her, throws it to the ground, and crushes it under his heel.  Rage brews in his gut like a poison.  He’s almost confident his knees are trembling almost as much as his balled fists.  It’s all but a mirror fucking image of himself...  Tears bite at his eyes and it takes all he’s got to swallow the lump in his throat between the grinding of his teeth.

The kids flinch with his first step toward them.  By the second, they’re inching their bodies to turn for their inevitable dash from the scene of the crime.  All Ben wants is to grab each of them by the neck and throttle them senseless for what they were doing.

“Go.”  He grits.  “Get the fuck out of here!”

Normally, seeing them throw one another to the wolves and every-man-for-himself-ing it would be amusing.  But not this.  Not now.

The boy they’d been after sniffles and tugs his jacket back in place, zipping it quickly to hide the torn neckline of his shirt that had revealed a garment Benjamin knew all too well.

“Hey it’s– don’t worry now, okay?”  He stammers, approaching slowly.  “They’re gone, and they ain’t coming back.  This yours?” Ben asks, nodding his head in the direction of scattered books, paper, and a crumpled bookbag.  His heart hurts ten times worse when he spots the little pink, blue, and white pride pin dangling from a zipper loop.

The boy doesn’t answer, nor does his gaze rise from the ground.  Ben picks everything up anyway.  He spots a name on some torn up algebra homework.

“Eli?”

That does the trick.  Ben grabs one last thing off the ground– a baseball cap– and shuffles over to him.  “You okay?”  The bug kneels once Eli looks back to the ground. Kiddo’s got a black eye and a bloody nose.  “Think you dropped this,” he murmurs.  He gently plops the hat in place and tugs it forward nice and snug.  Perfect fit.

Thwip.

Whoever’s washcloth he snagged from the clothesline above will just have to cope with its loss.  “Here.” He says, reaching forward with the rag to dab away the blood.  “Pinch that for me, yeah?” When the boy’s hands don’t leave the neckline of his jacket, Ben sighs.

“Don’t worry about hiding the straps, little dude.  I used to wear a binder too.”

And, just like that, shame and humiliation turns to awe and disbelief.

“Used to have shitty kids do awful things to me too.”

“R-Really?”  Eli squeaks, voice nasally from the hold Ben keeps on his nose.

“So you can talk!”  The bug chirps, lenses miming the way his eyes change with his growing smile.  “Here, take that– awesome.  But yeah… Yeah.”  Ben slings the bookbag onto his back and stands.  “Can I walk you home?  Or I could swing ya.  Your choice.”

The kid’s eyes light up even brighter.  “I wanna– can we swing?”

“You bet!” 

He swaps the bookback to his chest and lets Eli climb on piggy-back style.  

“Hold onto your hat.  You want the scenic route?”

“What the hell was that earlier?”  

Ben's feet dangle over the edge.  He and Homelander had stopped to relax not long after the debacle with the kids. There had still been a few issues around the city that needed handling, but they finally found a quiet moment.  The top of Lady Liberty’s crown was the only place that seemed far enough away from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, and they sat in near silence so long that the sun had started to paint the world in reds and golds.

“What do you mean?”  The bug asks, sadness thick in his voice despite every insistence that he was completely fine.

“Just, all that.” Homelander doesn’t know how to explain it.  The bug smelled like misery down to the atomic level from the moment he dropped the kid off, and there was obviously something personal in the way he’s been reacting to the situation.  “You take every wet puppy we come across to heart, but you usually get over it pretty quickly.  What’s the problem?”

It’s certainly irksome when the bug looks away.  Benjamin’s dismay is practically stinking up Lady Liberty’s entire head.

“It’s nothing.  Don’t worry about it.”

Which is such a fucking lie. It almost makes him furious. 

“Right, right.” He scoffs. “Your blood pressure is elevated over nothing.  Got a little jack rabbit thumpin’ in your chest over nothing.  Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

“No, I just…” Ben sighs wistfully, but one of his uncomfortable chuckles cuts through it.  “It’s just a lot, y’know?”

Since fucking when has his talkative little spider ever learned the art of silence?  Christ, it’s almost a total role reversal of the other night.  Ben’s silent, but all Homelander wants is their normal, stupid banter.  He wants to hear about helping old broads cross the street and stopping bike thieves.  He wants to hear Ben’s ridiculous anecdotes and pestering questions. But now he’s being deprived, and for fucking what?  Because some pissant kid couldn’t fight off a pack of bullies?

“And I don’t wanna force you to be my therapist.”

As if the bug could force him to do anything. Time for a different approach. 

“Heh, try me.  I’ve been told I’ve got pretty strong shoulders.”  He pats one for good measure.  “Besides, the more you deny it, the more I want to know.”

The more I have to know…

Was there something not included in his file?  Something Homelander hadn’t scrounged up in that shithole apartment Benjamin had been living in?

“C’mon, get it off your chest before you stink up the whole statue.  Sad people smell bad.”  

He stares and stares until Ben cracks the smallest smile.  It would be fine if his eyes weren’t glassy.

“I just… ah, where to start…”

Probably at the beginning, he wants to say, but–

“That… happened to me.”  Ben says, clearing his throat after a moment.  “Just… really hit home, y’know?”

Oh.  

Oh…

Homelander’s eyes narrow.  He means to demand elaboration, but Ben beats him right to it.

“I… it was some kids at school.”  Ben takes a deep, shaky breath.  His blood pressure is climbing again, heart pounding, adrenaline brewing. He stares blankly into the dark nothingness of the river. “I dunno what they were even trying to prove, y’know? I figure you know all this already, but I wasn’t always a guy…”

He just nods.  Of course he already knows. Vought didn’t miss a beat with that dossier.  But, more importantly, Ben used to get harassed as a kid?  It seems nothing short of preposterous.  Benjamin’s a superhuman; he shouldn’t have a single problem putting filth beneath his boot–

“Apparently they were supposed to just beat my ass and prove a point, but I– it wasn’t…”  Benjamin pauses, collecting himself, eyes shut.

Homelander inches the slightest bit closer.  Never in his life has he ever felt a need so strong to pull someone into his arms.  Hell, he’s never even asked someone to drop all of their baggage like this before either.  He’s never cared.  Things like this are beneath him… But how quickly that lack of concern has morphed into woeful rage the likes of which he hasn’t felt in decades…

“T-They didn’t do a lot, y’know, just– just some, but...” 

Every sniffle, every crack in Ben’s voice rips Homelander’s heart to shreds. Someone had hurt his little spider.  

“And I…”  Ben wipes furiously at his eyes.  “I think– I think that t-those kids earlier were about to do the same thing to that boy and–” Ben finally looks over, eyes bloodshot and puffy. Devastated inside and out.  “Other than my old therapist and Jase, you’re the only one who knows about that now…”

His body moves on its own.  Homelander pulls Benjamin over, loops an arm around his back and another beneath his knees and hoists him into his lap for an embrace unlike any he’s ever given.  His heart hammers just as loudly as the bug’s.

“M’sorry,” comes the smallest, whimpering sob against the crook of his neck.  “S-Shit, I don’t– crying’s not– I usually don’t–”

“Shut up,” Homelander says softly, careful to keep even the slightest shred of rage off his tongue.  There would be time to find names later. Someday soon, hopefully.  “Cry your heart out, bug boy.  I can handle it.  Good shoulders, remember?”

Ben’s body shakes with a small laugh that interrupts whatever suppressed weep managed to slip free.

“T-They are cozy,” he hiccups.  “I’ll give ya that…”

He waits.  Waits and waits and waits until Ben’s cries cease and his vitals fall back to less distressed ranges.  By the sound of his breathing, he’s nearly wept himself to sleep.  So Homelander does the only thing that feels more right than dropping everything to raze that little shithole town where Benjamin was raised to the ground.

“I’ve gotcha,” he coos.  It’s the gentlest he’s ever taken off.  Just a tiny hop was all he needed to become weightless and rise higher and higher.  This is what he should’ve done right away.  

“What’s–”

“Your surprise,” he says as if it were so obvious.  “You like it?”

He certainly should regardless of how exhausted he may be.  The sun casts its red haze across the clouds, painting them perfect hues of scarlet and pink, sinking bit by bit more and more beneath the horizon.  The darkening blue of the sky threatens to overtake it all, like a god in and of itself ready to swallow the earth.

Ben clings to him even tighter.

“Relax. M’not gonna drop you.”  Homelander huffs a small chuckle.  

“I didn’t say you would,” yawns the bug.

God, their faces are so fucking close. 

“You’re being sticky,” he hums with a small roll of his eyes.  There’s not really a better way to describe it.  “Don’t you trust me?”

Say yes… Please fucking– just say yes.

“I do, just–” Benjamin sputters, eyes darting to and from his gaze.  “The heights, y’know?  Wait, you can feel that?”

“No, but I figured you were stuck to me.” He teases, grinning from ear to ear.

The resulting giggle is like sweet music to his ears.  It’s silent for a moment while the bug takes it all in.

“You can just– you can just do this like it’s nothing…” Ben murmurs after a while.  “You’re amazing,”

“Mm, tell me more.”

“If I do that, your head won’t fit through my doorway anymore,” Benjamin chuckles.  “But yeah…. Yeah.”

Just for that lovely compliment, Homelander decides the bug has earned a full sunset.  Not until the sun fades away completely does he decide to descend and, even then, the bug is already halfway dozed off again.  Messy hair tickles his cheek and he’s so glad Ben can’t see the smile he’s struggling to keep at bay.

Because it’s endearing, he tells himself.

He flies as slow as possible to savor the moment. It's awkward to maneuver two bodies through the access hatch at once, but he manages to do it all the same.

Part of him expected Ben to hop down as soon as they were inside, but, to his surprise, the bug does nothing of the sort.  He clings weakly all the way back to the bedroom, and those arms don’t quite unloop from around his neck even after he lays Benjamin on the bed.

Their eyes meet and the space between them is so very small.  No different at all than when he’d stolen that sweet, sleepy kiss…

“Hope you enjoyed flying air-Homelander,” he murmurs, smiling softly.  All the rage he’s felt since Ben’s confession has melted away, replaced by butterflies and fondness that feels so sweet that it could give him a cavity at any moment.  “You’ve arrived at your destination…”

Instead of letting go, those arms pull Homelander into a warm embrace.  No one ever really knows that Homelander can quite literally sniff them out.  Every little chemical the brain makes tickles his bloodhound nose in some way or another.  And Benjamin..?

“Mm, thanks, Homie…”

He smells sweet. 

“Of course.”

Warm.  Welcoming. 

“Get some sleep,” Homelander hums. The arms at his neck fall slowly and he tugs a blanket up to Ben’s chin.  Even after he leaves– reluctantly, of course– and with a troubled mind, he can’t shake that scent.  Serotonin, norepinephrine, oxytocin, vasopressin…

He smells like love.

Oh god.  Oh god…

He’s paced back and forth through the penthouse for hours now working through the hurricane of emotions sweeping through both his heart and mind.  There was rage.  Pure, unbridled, wrath at the fact someone had harmed his sweet Benjamin.  That they’d done such damage to the boy… it wasn’t enough to even fathom rolling heads.  It had to be more. 

He’d clenched his gloved fists over and over again, each creak of the leather a promise of how he’d crunch bones and sinew between his fingers and rip them limb from limb.  He’d savor it.  Every second would be perfect.  There were no faces yet to attach to these fantasies.  But soon, the very minute the staff clocked in, he’d put analytics’ sniffers on the trail.  They’d scrounge up something.  They fucking better.

Look at you, all in a twist over the bug.

His reflection stares back in the mirror, but there’s a lack of anger.  There’s no ridicule in its eyes.

“I–”  He swallows thickly, eyes darting between the window and mirror.  “I hate that someone… hurt him.”

I know, John.  I know… Why is that, do you think?

“I don’t–”  He swallows again, letting loose a shuddering breath.  He does know.  Dare he speak the words?  It was just a fixation, damn it!  For so long, it was just a fixation.  Just watching Ben through the walls of his shitty apartment, just floating out of sight to watch him swing to work, just watching – just… 

It’s the same reason you’re so afraid of the next few days.  They’ll be over.  You don’t know if he’ll keep coming around.  Chatting with you, sitting on rooftops, hanging out.  

It was undeniable.  As much as he tries to bury the feeling, there’s anxiety bubbling in droves over the idea of their mentorship week ending.  He’s never really had something like this.  Ben feels like a friend.  Sure, sometimes he’s a pain in the ass and he never shuts up, but he’s so…

C’mon, tiger! Do the math.  You snubbed Madelyn for him this morning.  What, you can’t put two and two together?

“I can’t–”

Can’t what?  Admit it?  Because that makes it too–

“Real.”  He deadpans.  It makes it too real.  These feelings, the reason he felt the need to sneak that little kiss, the way his heart fluttered earlier… letting Ben dump his baggage and not sneering or telling him off… 

“I–”

Just then, his phone dings from across the room and a jolt of excitement sparks through his body like a barrage of lightning.  He knows without even looking.  He knows because no one fucking texts him let alone talks to him after work hours.  His number was seemingly business only for so long, until…

Along came a spider.

He smiles sheepishly and does an awkward little run to his phone.  He chucks his gloves off on the way and grabs it with delight, hoping beyond hope that it’s–

-can’t sleep :( wanna do another movie if you’re not already asleep?  i’ll let you pick-

Giddiness rises in his chest and tugs the corners of his mouth into a big, happy grin.  Duh, he wants to say.  But he doesn’t reply at all.  Instead, he’s down the side of the building and inside the hatch within moments.  His hands shake slightly as he shuts it.  The barely-there citrus scent and the aroma of popcorn greets his nose first thing, and it feels so right.  

Ben’s in the kitchen to greet him, standing there in his boxers and a t-shirt while his snack of choice pops away in the microwave.  A thrill runs up his spine at the sight.

What a way to end the day.

[fakegirlsophie-mtftm]

CW: Pee, violence

You're back from your shopping spree, can't wait to try on your new dresses and lingerie once you get home.

On your way back, you cross a group of loud men, you know them, it's your local altright militia. They're known to be particularly vicious to "girls" like you. You pass, you should be fine. You pass, you should be fine. You pass, you should be fine. You keep repeating these words to yourself hoping for them to be true but you're too focused on this lil incantation to notice you bumped into one of them. "Got a problem?". He is drawing a knife.

...You... just pissed yourself, it's visible, your full bladder got emptied right through your pink kawaii dress and pee is running down your white stockings, strongly yellowing them. You're stuttering, trying to muster a single word that will convince them to let you go. It finally gets out "I'm sorry". It's been years since you've let out such a deep masculine voice, you've not been clockedseen for what you really are for a very long time. You don't know why it happened now, at the worst moment, betraying years of voice training.

You run for your life, it can't be over now. But they catch up quickly. They've not been pumped for years with hormones that make them weaker. They grab you by your long silky hair and slam you on the ground.

"We got one hell of a faggot here."

"We don't like your kind."

"You're convincing, how many women did you prey on like this?"

"Bet you still sneak your way into women bathrooms despite the new laws"

"We gotta make sure you learn your place."

They grab you by your hair again, this time tearing it, cutting large strands with their knives. "I always have this prepared, glad it can be of use" One takes out a razor. "We're giving you a buzzcut."

You try to resist, yell, get away but you're pinned down, three of them have their full weight pressing on you, crushing you. One of your silicone breasts explodes under the pressure. You patiently wait, crying, head fusing with the pavement as they shave all your fake feminity off. People are watching from afar, some of them filming. It feels like a eternity. Each tear rolling down on your now swollen face sends pain through your whole body. "Oh you had nice gulfs under there, faggot. Gonna be harder to hide them now." They're done. The hair you've spent years growing, grooming, brushing, it's there. On the pavement. The wind is blowing it further and further away. You can't see them anymore.

But they're not done. They have yet to give you a proper beating. They repeatedly slam your face on the floor. You feel your nose breaking, your jaw cracking, your brow ridge twisting, the metal fixations in your cheeks popping. With a few hits, they ruined the thousands of dollars you spent to get that dollface. With the new anti-trans laws, there will be no surgeon to fix this now. "Nature always finds its way back, doesn't it?". They laugh.

They tear apart your dress and lit ablaze your freshly bought ones.

"Lesson learned, tranny? Leave womanhood to real women, you creep."

They leave and you can finally pass out.

When you wake up, you're still laying on the street, a small crowd has gathered.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"We should call an ambulance for this young man"

"He looks terrible"

"Was he wearing little girl clothes looking like this? Freak."

"He is all wet down there, did he enjoy this?"

"Ew leave that thing alone. Good thing these boys did the job."

They leave you alone. You've not been misgenderedcorrectly gendered in years. You start crying again. You know you will never be able to pretend ever again.

But deep down, behind the pain, you feel relief.

This is the way you were supposed to be. The way people were supposed to see you. The scene looks like it's out of one of those magical girl hentai you've been gooning to your whole life. On the floor, crying and hurting, clothes torn after being defeated.

Except you're not a magical girl. You're a broken man in little girl clothing.

[struckd0wn]

Hi I just wanted to say I love your writing! Your Hanzo piece is so good.

I normally don't send requests but I figured I'd do it for once :)

Could you write something with either Ghost or Bruce Wayne with a transmasc reader that just wants to be held and taken care of? Fluff or smut is good <3

AHH THANKS, I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT <3 !!! I would love to write for you, I hope it lives up to your expectations :3

P.S sorry this took me a bit to respond to :P I had a bit of writers block -_-

In My Arms ── Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne x transmasc reader

CW: slur used and some transphobia, Bruce Wayne has 0 relationship ship skills lol, he trying his hardest, body dysphoria and dysmorphia, self worth issues, little mental break down, overall just a shitty day for reader :(, fluff and smut, clit used to describe anatomy, riding ;), lots of kissing too

Your day has been, entirely, incredibly, shitty. You woke up for work late, your lateness extended by the period of time in which you stared at yourself in the mirror. You had to ignore it, dressing in your work shirt that felt too tight around your hips and waste, your thighs feeling suffocated from your pants. Maybe you'd ask your boss for a bigger size, maybe it would hide your figure. Somedays you felt extremely happy with your progress thus far into your transition, but others felt like you hadn't even started. Although flat chested now, you couldn't ignore the feminine curve you swore you saw in the mirror that night.

You worked the night shift at a corner store not far from the Wayne Manor. This schedule is what you preferred for you and Bruce, that way you would both work at night and come home early morning to sleep with one another. He hated it, he insisted you just stay home 24/7, you didn't need a job, he was rich and could take care of you. Bruce didn't want you adapting his horid sleep schedule just for him, let alone working when you really didn't need too.

Things like this reminded you that you and Wayne were entirely different. He was a billionaire, you were just some dude who worked at a corner store for minimum wage. Bruce was Gotham City's vigilante, you were his boyfriend that lived in his extravagant house... for free. To say you were jealous of your boyfriend was an understatement, but he didn't understand that. He is completely clueless. Bruce doesn't understand why you would need to work, but everytime he spend his money on you, you can't help but feel helpless, like he's giving you handouts. You don't want him to feel obligated to spend money on you or to have him feel taken advantage of.

But to be fair, you didn't understand fighting or saving lives like he did. You wish you could, you want to understand, but Bruce has no need to understand working to live. Then you resented yourself for being jealous of him, of your own boyfriend. He was rich with money to spend, with a side gig as savior of the city. You could never amount to that.

The bell to store entrance rings, pulling you from your thoughts. The clock reads 2:30am, this would probably be your last customer before you'd walk home to the manor. Your eyes follow the man that had entered the shop, clearly drunk. He uses the shelves to hold himself up, stumbling all over the place while gigging like an idiot. The man approaches the back where the walls are lined with refrigerators, grabbing an alcoholic beverage you can't name.

You watch as he waddles his way up to your register, looking you up in down with his canned alcohol. "Hey sweetheart," he starts, setting the can down in front of you. You can feel his eyes tracing down your figure. Ignoring him you take the beverage to scan it. "What, trannys can't say hello?" He asks you, leaning over the counter. A lump forms in your throat as you quietly read him his total. He clicks his tongue at you, pulling out a couple of bills to hand over. "You know what, I'll forgive you. What do you say you come to my place after work. I ain't never slept with one of you before, but hey, a pussys a pussy." You tell yourself to just get it over with, you have to deal with drunkies all the time, it's not any different.

"No thank you, have a good night." You tell him, handing him his change before promptly preparing for closing to distract yourself. The man grumbles, taking his drink and change out the door. In the last thirty minutes of your shift you clean up around the store, stock some shelves, and count the cash in the register. As you're collecting your belongs to leave you notice that the drunk man from before is posted up across the street, drinking from his can. You roll your eyes, making a plan to just go for it when he's distracted.

There's a bus just down the road and you wait for it to cross the store front, hoping maybe he wouldn't notice you leave. You turn the lights off and as soon as the bus passes you, you swiftly exist and lock the store up for the night. Speed walking doesn't help you though, hearing the footsteps of the man running to catch up to you. "Hey, wait up!" He calls out, but you just keep walking.

Eventually he reaches you, stepping in front of you to block your path. "Cmon now, my offer still stands," The man holds his arms out, moving with you so you don't get past him. You tell him no again, trying to push past his left arm. This time he grabs you by your waist, smirking down at you with his drunken expression. You push him off of you and before he can grab you again he hits the concrete with a loud thud. You blink down at him before a figure envelops him, throwing punch after punch at the man. It doesn't take you long to realize who it is.

"Hey, knock it off." You tell Bruce but he doesn't hear you, or maybe he does and just doesn't care. "Stop, Bru-... He's drunk, stop it." You grab your boyfriends arms, and with enough strength you pry him of the pervert. You watch his chest heave under his metal chest plate, staring down at the drunk angrily. Bruce holds you by your wrist, dragging you twords his bike, footsteps heavy in his boots.

The ride back home is silent but you can tell he's still upset by the way he speeds twords the manor. Once you make it back home, down in his lab of his tower, he helps you off his bike. Bruce removes his mask, seemingly his anger is replaced with worry as he near smothers you. "Are you ok? Did he hurt you?" He exclaims, holding your face in his gloved hands, but you just push past him.

"Yes Bruce, I'm fine. He was just drunk." You tell him as you make your way to the elevator, ready to just go to bed at this point. He follow you like a little dog, into the elevator, still examining you for injury.

"Him being drunk is not an excuse." He tells you a matter of factly.

"I'm not saying it's an excuse. I'm saying I could have handled it." And he doesn't say anything about that. You walk up the stairs and he's still following you, all his gear rattling and echoing throughout the manor. You make it up to the bedroom, attempting to close the door behind you but he pushes in with ease, not even acknowledging that you were trying to keep him out.

You sigh heavily, setting down your keys and jacket onto the dresser. "I told you you didn't have to work." Bruce starts up again, and by now you want to bang you head against the wall.

"I don't wanna talk about it." You say.

But he persists, pacing around the room in his armor. "I told you, you didn't have to change your schedule to match mine."

"Bruce." You plead, but he again ignores you.

"You shouldn't be up all night, let alone walking home at three in the morning." He continues.

You stand there in awe as he rambles on, alls while taking off his gear. He makes it sound like you can't take care of yourself, like you're his damsel in distress. "Bruce I said-"

"Do you know the things I see at night? What did he say to you, what did he say before I got there?" Bruce exclaims twords you.

By now you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you snap. "Bruce, I said I don't wanna talk about it!" You yell over his rambling, this time he turns to look at you. You're too far gone now, tears roll down your cheek as you sob, desperately trying to wipe them away with the back of your hand. He stops what he's doing, during all of that he has managed to get everything off but the pants he wears under his suit. "I don't need your rescuing or money, I just need you to listen!" You tell him through broken sobs. "I know I'm not rich like you, I know I'm not as strong as you but that doesn't mean I'm completely helpless." You feel like you could just crumble, Bruce is almost speechless.

He's on you within a second, large hand hold your face but he can't wipe away the avalanche of tears that stream down your puffy cheeks. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean it to sound like that..." He whispers over your sobs. The build up from everything today has finally set in, and now that it has started it wasn't gonna stop. You allow Bruce to undress you from your work clothes, replacing them with one of his baggy shirts and a pair or your boxers. He sits you down on the edge of your shared bed as he dresses himself in a pair of his sweatpants, quickly returning to your side.

Your boyfriend tucks the two of you into the bed. Your crying has reduced to small sniffles, Bruce continues to wipe your face dry, but it can't get rid of the redness in your eyes. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I was just worried, I should have listened to you the first time." His apology mixes with explanation, and although you understand where's he's coming from you'd wish he'd just do this first before scolding you. You'd wish he'd understand he didn't need to take care of you physically, you could've handled some drunk, you just needed his help emotionally. To tell you it was gonna be ok, it's all over now. Without the "I told you so" in between.

"I know you could've handled it, I just...couldn't stop myself." He admits to you. You stare at him and he stares back as he holds you. You almost laugh at his admission, he wasn't just looking out for you, the guy had seriously just ticked him off. He didn't do it cause he thought you couldn't handle it, he did it because some rando was trying to touch up on his boyfriend. Maybe he was scared to admit that word for word, but you could read him like a book.

Bruce leans into you, pressing a kiss to your lips and you egg him own, pressing further into him. His hands find their way under you shirt as he continues kissing you, gripping at your flesh like he might loose you if he let's go. "I'll ask Alfred to order us some things to eat. We can eat while me watch a movie, hm?" He tells you between kisses, you nod quickly at his suggestion. You move you hands up to to hold his face, kissing him again. His stuble feels nice under you finger as you deepen the kiss. Wayne does not object, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You part your lips slightly, allowing him access into your mouth. Bruce is still a bit awkward and clumsy when is comes to these things, mostly because this is the first relationship he's ever gotten this far with someone. He's hesitant but eventually his tongue meets yours as they messily collide with each other. His hand are rough compared to the smooth skin of your torso, they almost feel like sand paper as they roam over your sides.

You push in further, until you are fully saddled on top of him, never breaking the kiss. "Help me Bruce." You plead with him, his face is bright red and he just nods at the suggestion. You sit upwards onto you knees, pulling your boxer shorts down in front of him. Bruce is silent but his hand slowly inch down to your fully exposed thighs, his thumb reaches out the brush against you clit. The feeling makes you flinch as your boyfriend works on removing his own pants.

He doesn't even bother removing them all they way before he's pulling you down by your hips. The stretch around his cock is almost painful, but you immediately forgot about everything bad that has happened today, even the part where you snapped at him. Bruce peppers your face with kisses, waiting for you to adjust before moving. You start moving on your own, slowly pulling off of his length. Wayne throws his head back, hitting the headboard with a thud, his hands squeezing at your hips.

When you slam back down your moan is loud and Bruce moves to covers your mouth. He is clearly embarrassed but his smile is wide as you sit there watching each other. "I'd love to hear you but... I don't want to disturb Alfred." You almost slap yourself for it. That would surly be an awkward conversation, although you think Alfred would be entirely understanding. You nod and the two of you continue. Bruce guides you up and down his cock, his groans muffled as he too struggles to keep himself quiet. You face is buried into his shoulder, letting out a small squeek each time he's pushed back deep inside you. You feel like a teenager who's at your boyfriends house, trying to keep quiet because the partners are in the next room over.

Your can feel the build up in your stomach, it's getting more and more difficult to not scream out loud in pleasure. Bruce is starting to fail at it, his breathing rushed and his moans escape his parted lips. He thrusts up into you, desperate for release which comes mere seconds later. You watch his eyebrows furrow as he cums inside of you, his twitching causes you to orgasm soon after, biting down on his shoulder to be as silent as possible. You whimper weekly, pulling yourself off of him slowly. The two of you lay side by side, ignoring the mess that clings to the both of you and the sheets.

You watch his heaving chest settle, noticing the bite marks you left. Your finger reaches out to brush over it with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry..." You whisper, but Bruce doesn't mind, shrugging his shoulder as he pulls you in to cuddle.

──

By now it is early morning, Bruce is awake, finishing the movie the two of you had put on while you ate. The cheap take out containers of the restaurant you had gotten him hooked on littered the coffee table, and the bruise you left on his shoulder aches. It's a lovely reminder. Bruce sat this his back leaned against the arm of the couch, and you had fallen asleep in between is legs with you face resting on his lower abdomen. He watches you sleep, playing with your hair as he did. He would ask you about the his lack of understand once you had woken up, but for now he will hold you here, in his arms.

[blubushie]

Update:

Talked to a bloke. Considering where the leak is, they're gonna hafta yank my tranny out. Probably gonna be about 2k in costs just for labour plus costs to fix whatever's fucked. He's certain there's shit fucked. I'm also certain there's shit fucked. Fuck.

Gonna put in tranny fluid every 30mi/30min. Right now she's holding what fluid we got in there.

Put in a new LEGIT radiator overflow. Required some bush mechanicry including using spit as lube and the tip of my shop scissors as a wedge to get the hose on. This is also how I ended up cutting myself on the hose clip (by using scissors as pliers cuz I. Can't find my pliers...)

Dad is angry because he doesn't know how to start my truck properly. She starts right up for me. Also 10 minutes ago I was skiting about this and she decided to get difficult with me. Took me a couple tries. But she started faster than she does with him. Content to teach me a little lesson, I guess. Lesson learnt, I'll be humble.

There's a big piece of hard plastic shit in the road (think esky lid but a bit smaller) where my brakes went weird. I reckon my tyre skidded on it and that's the crinkling I heard and what caused the skidding feeling. Fingers crossed that's all.

I had a spare 14a fuse and replaced it. Indicators are working. I bought some fuses from AutoZone and replaced the 20a fuse. My taillights are working now. They fucked my pigtail up—the brake and headlight lights are crossed—but the important thing is that my wires ARE working. We have indicators on Tilly again!! And brake lights!!

[kharmii]

So I got the idea to actually calculate the global human population myself, city by city, and guess what.

It’s not even 3 billion.

Not even CLOSE.

There are NOT 7 billion people on the planet. You can count yourself. The overpopulation hoax is the foundation of the globalist terror regime.

Whether it's three or seven billion, the global population doesn't matter. Overpopulation is a regional problem. There are starving children with distended bellies running around in Africa and India, and yet I suspect those places aren't handing out free birth control and running article after article about how "Cats are Better Than Babies".

The globalist terror regime is focusing that on first world nations while flooding every good place to live with problem people. Here in the US, every country south of us is clearing out their prisons and mental hospitals then sending them right up to us in large caravans of tens and hundreds of thousands of people. It's white privilege to have a job with a living wage, medical benefits, etc. We need to let everybody in so large corporations don't have to send their companies to China. The whole planet should be one huge sweat shop.

Speaking of white privilege, I have an OT beef. A few days ago, a fourteen-year-old student at Apalachee High School named Colt Gray brought a semi-automatic weapon to school and shot a bunch of people before being detained by police. According to the wiki, the school is in a town that's 58% white where half the students are economically disadvantaged. Colt Gray was one of these students. His mom was a low life drug addict who was arrested for "domestic violence, drug possession, property damage and various traffic violations, including driving under the influence charges. She also faced civil fraud charges over the purchase of a used vehicle and was locked up in Ben Hill County as recently as April."

Colt Gray ended up a Kamala Harris supporting trannie who was probably bullied at school on top of having a dysfunctional family. They tried to wipe his online presence, but it's being passed around.

It looks like he lived with his dad who was also abusive, and now the dad is being arrested for giving the shooter the weapon he used as a Christmas present last year. This is the second time I've heard of this happening. The first time is when the parents of school shooter Ethan Crumbley were charged with manslaughter in April 2024 because they supposedly also supplied the weapon used.

Now I can see why people would think this was appropriate. Terrible parents who raise a kid wrong should be held accountable for setting a monster loose in the community, and yet this only seems to be a white issue. I've yet to see a black parent be held responsible for her child's actions. Black people have an 80% out-of-wedlock birth rate and fatherless household rate. They make up 13% of the population but commit 90% of gun crimes, 90% of adolescent gun crimes and most of the mass shootings. The news only focuses on the rare white person committing a mass shooting and acts like it's an epidemic, even though black people are shooting up every major city every day of the year.

You aren't even supposed to question this. Black people problems are the result of white privilege and 'them evil colonialists who brought crop rotation and modern medicine to the third world' blahblahblah. Black people who aren't qualified to run a hotdog stand at a little league game are supposed to be able to lecture white people endlessly, and yet we aren't allowed to say, *lifts finger* uh um.....maybe if you waited until you were married to pop out babies, then maybe your atrocious crime rate would go down. Srsly, we're dealing with the problems of people in generational poverty who have like a 10% literacy rate, and the media keeps beating it into our heads that all the problems of the world are caused by white people, and it's only white people who need to have fckn dogs-cats-rats-smelly horses instead of babies.

Another meme they're always pushing in the media is that 'right wing extremism is the biggest domestic terror threat' and that all mass shooters are right wing (laughably ridiculous). Then when a radicalized Marxist trannie like Audrey Hale shoots up a white Christian school, it takes literal years for the authorities to release the manifesto. It's supposedly a danger to the public. When we finally get to read it, it's nothing but the ramblings of a mentally ill radicalized Marxist who complains over and over that nobody loves them, and that's why they have to kill a bunch of white Christian kids because the media beat it into their deranged mind that white Christians are the cause of all their problems.

[troughtonmedia]

Script #69

Approximately 40 million years ago; a primordial ape like creature in a tree and the ancestor to all of mankind, discovered the act of masturbation. The first perversion of all planet Earth! You see, for eons the main purpose of sexual action was reproduction and pack dominance. This monkey was making it for pleasure Jesus Christ now fast forward to today...

Sex is everywhere! It's in the news, it's in our schools, it's even in the workplace... For our protagonist Samantha, it was happening right now in her bedroom with her lesbian lover. The year was 2037 and it was June; aka pride month! The gays were drinking Bud Light and the trannies were shopping at Target. The rainbow flag was flapping in the wind but unfortunately the LBGQTA was at war with the "breeder" heterosexuals and things were getting worse.

It was a war fought with dildos and butt plugs. Vibrators and cock rings! Some men were even marrying their blow up dolls. In the middle of the 20th century, homosexuality was considered a mental illness but nowadays, 3 in every 5 human beings were either lesbian, gay, transexual, non binary, or queer. Advancements in science had made it possible for anyone to procreate. You didn't even need semen anymore or an egg from the fallopian tubes. All a Doctor needed now was a drop of blood and you were good to go.

Artificial wombs had become the "in-thing" as women would no longer have to endure 9 months of pregnancy. A she/them could now mate with a she/her or a he/she or a he/them or a it/was it was like magic. Hospitals had now become Hatcheries! Babies turned into children without mothers or fathers, just groups of LBGQTA parent hordes.

The stigmata of a traditional marriage between a man and a woman had now become repulsive to most. Straight people were now in the minority and they were loosing ground fast. They were becoming a dying breed. A pair united by Christ in holy matrimony. There was only one problem! Christ wasn't coming back to Earth to clear things up with the birds and the bees. What was good was now bad and what was bad had become good. Everyone became super confused and humankind started fucking itself out of existence!

We were evolving into little grey space aliens colonizing the universe. We were really great at technology and really perverted at the same time. Thousands of years from now all of what we currently know is just one sentence of one chapter of the little grey space alien history book. We are all mortal and we all just wanna have our experience before we die. Perhaps our descendants are fucking weirdos but at least we didn't nuke the Earth or maybe we did who the hell really knows because we're all already dead!

THE END

[bloomadoom]

What do you think guys. Men seem to have a tendency of creeping up behind and sort of halfway to the side of me and whispering nasty abusive sexual shit in my ear. I'm already on probation for threatening a guy with a chicken teryaki skewer, and I'm trying to avoid going to prison over the wrong person. Usually I just get loud and make an embarrassing scene, but I've been racking up the ~banned from the premisis~es. Obviously none of these people are ever held accountable. So the other day I'm out shopping and one of these guys is harrassing me, and I try to ignore him this time, but upon circling the shop he's still there and his two kids are now parroting him. So I tell the little rape-mouth furbies to shut up and spit at them. He gets all huffied up and loudly tells the employees "He, or she or whatever, just spit on my kids!" Excuse me, I spat in their direction, on the floor. They were a considerable distance away and I always miss on purpose. So I leave.

But anyway, "He, or she or whatever," it's so typical, and I'm just trying to figure out if he's intentionally distancing himself from his acts of sexual aggression toward me by, as an assumed heterosexual, first stating I'm a man and then pronouning me out of politeness (You know that seems to happen a lot and seems like the precursor to the scarier side of the gay panic defense business. You can rape trannies all you want as long as you kill em and act transphobic afterwards) or if he genuinely switches from thinking I have a cute butt, hair, and fit to sexistly internally revoking my womanhood upon his rejection and/or my apparent lack of ~feminine temper~. . . OR perhaps I'M being homophobic by assuming he would be ashamed of sexually harassing another man in public. I mean, times really do change. Maybe it's not important.

[the-one-and-only-overlass]

one thing i wish i could do but that i'll probably never be able to do (mostly because i'm not really intending to be a mechanic) is open up my own little one-person auto shop and name it Hot Tranny Customs.

yes, it's a bad idea and a worse pun. no, i do not care.

[the-firebird69]

PRISTINE 1986 HONDA CMX250C REBEL

We are in the deserts and we don't have those ships yet and these guys are at each other so hard it's gross and we're turning this next and they're going to use high tech stuff and we have to go down there are these big fellows are going to go down there and rip them apart I've never seen people so aggressive in my life and he's aggressive he has control it and it's a pain it says it causes pain it really does but if he keeps on leashing and unleashing his testosterone will go up he says and they say it's true so it's kind of helped him they say it went from 8.5 to 8 in the past 4 years and it might be the trip to fan and it says part of it it's a turkey so eating a lot of turkeys it's not why it makes me more stressed for real we have to sit there and wait for them to come out they have weapons on it it's just a damn nuisance God is horrible and other people are starting to get there and they're going to figure it out hopefully if these guys ever get there for Christ's sake they can't get anywhere I do what he say I know what he's saying too why don't you go somewhere I changed this motor out no I'm going to go do it I can't believe it the original mowers motor is slower than a lawn mower motor this ridiculous

Friend of hulk Hogan now I'm his son

Hulk Hogan Jr and the name is also on the shop Kaplan

I'm not the test guy but okay that's good

Kaplan

And we did take one of these Honda rebels and we put a 35 horsepower Craftsman lighter mower engine and tranny and it just barely fits it's the biggest you can get in there it wants to see what the top speed was cuz that's what the pushes even though we're going to have regular ones and more reasonable with different trim packages and you can have a big one like this 35 with bags and we're going to call it the Daveis Harley 23 SUE Bagger. Yeah that's also funny he started calling Sarah Sue he's really interested for crying out loud no he's not. And that's what we got out of it with the bags and the cow was ridiculous 230 mph yeah that's stupid and we trimmed it down and we called the Davies Harley 32 s u e Sportster because that's what the Sportster is like trim down and we're not naming the animal names this time but it says that on the tank and it's classy it says David Harley and the bigger letters and not so much purple and orange I like Chrome and black and underneath in small square letters is a designation and it's just like Harley-Davidson and you take the Honda stuff off the whole bike and we have stuff that goes there for Davis Harley double eagle is the symbol and we're doing it now and the ones that are like the bagger that you saw the roadster that's what you call it is a we're calling th at Davy's Harley roadster Sue 301 and you will see that it is very nice and you have golden eagles and golden lettering. Is wonderfully fast and it's liquid cooled and the conversion doesn't cost much and it's really less gas you get at 6065 mph or even 70 you get about 45 miles to the gallon if you go 55 you get a hundred miles to the gallon and people running around town say I can just use a small gas tank it came with but it comes with a huge tank with the old Harley with that big huge tank it's insane that these motors work better they last a long time when you liquid cool them and we're saying it's mandatory

If you're making a Davies Harley-Davidson and you're making these models you must use liquid cooling TO BE A REAL DAVIES HARLEY-DAVIDSON YOU MUST HAVE YOUR RIDER LAWN MOWER ENGINE LIQUID COOL JACKET THEY'RE NOT MUCH MONEY BUT WE'RE THE ONES MAKING THEM AND THAT'S WHAT WE'RE USING

Now a little perturbed that you change all sorts of stuff but we put the lettering the way we wanted up above we want to repeat some stuff

This is our bike our brand and we're making them and we're setting the standard if you want to make them you should follow the standard and you'll see what it is it's a certain respect tire for a certain model and a certain horsepower for a certain model and they're very specific and you see why and you have several models already you can make

We want to follow this and we're going to try and issue a pamphlet on what to use and all of it is very inexpensive and we want to do that to make this a uniform company and it's like a do-it-yourself company but it will look like a very big firm and it's really everybody and it's going to be nice ultimately we're going to start making the motorcycles everyone has that plan though but we should be on the same page

We're going to make up the pamphlet there is a suggestion line please use it if you have a decent suggestion remember this is what we're trying to do to just get by and to do a little better and to help people make it of hours in each of ours

We're going to go ahead and start making a pamphlet and I think we have four models and if you look at the last few posts you see them we didn't change the high performance tires until after the 301 is for cost purposes the tires on him can go real fast you need it for 280ish I really can go about 300 but you don't want to do that too many times are these bikes are great and there's parts everywhere for them for other items you might have to fix or replace and gosh darnit they work really well with these motors

Frank Castle hardcastle

I'm making mine now with the yardmaster and you're right we have to pick a planet and we're going ahead and doing it now and we both been working on it like gangbusters be seriously though we're going to be the next in line to be the people who are way too big and in both ways it's even worse hopefully get a lot of help

Duke nukem Blockbuster

I just want to see something I should probably stop doing that no I got to tell you something you like to be pursued and he says he's going to get the 420 and it's not marijuana and he flicks it out and there's some idiot behind him no that might be one of us and he's cursing him out and flipping the bird and it's good that you didn't forget anything now we're going to make these bikes and I get this the 420 makes it six models and you forgot about it and so we're going to have to write it in a pamphlet and send it out it's going to be like an underground pamphlet kind of thing that's going to have the official logo and we're going to have that blue and purplish blue and orange it's going to be hug around a bluish purple but that's going to be only uncertain bikes it's a nice color and it's going to be on probably the smaller bikes that are the scooter size and we're getting to it and try to find it

Hera

Zues

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Olympus

[toc-the-elder]

Well, today was fucking humiliating.

I was going to do some shopping and see a friend in Manchester. I put on a nice skirt and jumper and a cute pair of boots. I have recently dyed my hair and I thought I looked amazing. I was feeling so confident and secure in myself.

The train station is a five minute walk from my flat. When I arrived, I stopped to have a quick vape before going on the platform. Here, I was accosted by two boys from the local high school. One of them had previously bothered me on the train before. They asked me probing questions about what my genitals look like, whether my tits are real, what I identify as (with a face full of make up and an outfit like mine, it's hardly ambiguous). I asked them to leave me alone, but they kept going, invading my personal space.

I was recently threatened with murder for the crime of going to a cash machine. I was reliving that panic, and panic further, and screamed at them to leave me alone. Their whole little group laughed at me.

Between not wanting to be in a confined space with them on the train, and uncontrollably sobbing so much that I couldn't even walk to the platform, I just sat down and cried. I cried for about 45 minutes. A young girl offered me a tissue. She was the only person out of the hundreds that passed me that showed any concern. Most just laughed.

I got the next train, as I had already bought the ticket. The shops would be closed by the time I got there. I just paid nearly fifteen quid to have a public panic attack. When the train pulled into the next stop, a pair of different boys pointed and laughed at me. I cried the entire way to Manchester, and just sat on the platform waiting for the same train to go back the same way. It was an hour each way.

They made of me a public spectacle. Now, I am scared to even leave the house, since it seems that word has got round about the crying tranny freak. Nobody is ever going to see me as a woman. I'll always be trans first. I'll always just be a man to everyone else. Every conversation I ever have will be about my transition. I am exhausted. I am tired. And I am starting to think coming out wasn't actually worth it. I know they're just kids, but they were old enough to know what they were doing. And nothing will be done about it. I'm just a pathetic, powerless loser that nobody gives a fuck about. I'm just a fucking freak.

[wytfut]

59 big window

I get accused of being a bit hasty in disposing of items that appear to have no worth or of no interest to me anymore. So I toss it, or sell it, and have been known to bury such items out back.

I think to myself that I’m cleaning up the place, but in reality, it maybe that I’m tired of said items haunting me, and I’ve had enough. Really not sure, but this makes sense. I do know, when the mood strikes me and someone were to come up and ask about said items... I’d probably just hand it over to them, I just don’t want to deal with it anymore, or see it.

There’s this old 1959 Ford short box big window we had around for a long time. 

This truck had a lot of Waverly owners for years before we got it. Initially purchased by old friend Make Danley.... some how he got it from a Shriners chapter or a 3rd party. They had used it as a parade truck, and it was then a loud turquois. And LOLOLOL, buckets of bondo... 

Little 223 inline 6, Mike painted the truck implement white, and thus the nickname “the milk truck” started, and was with this truck until I sold it. 

From there Mike sold it to the “Harris’s” who drove it for hi school one son, and then our neighbors the Nelsons had it for their sons lawn service and also hi school. 

Never really showing any major rust, the truck was litely abused, and had a fair  look to it, by the time we bought it. 

This was Lukes hi school vehicle, white and Inline 6, bench seat. Luke being constantly broke and no spare change, would run this thing on fumes a lot. In our cold winters this would obviously create frozen fuel lines, and I’d have to come to the rescue. Never had to worry about dirt in the fuel system with it being run on empty a lot of the time.

That old truck would just keep on chugging along. Never using any oil...  

Josh got to hi school age, and Luke buying his 1991 F150.... Josh became the new main driver of the Milk truck. 

Being I can’t leave anything alone, and Josh was game for anything to make it cool..... it became a project. 

I don’t remember which was first... paint or the engine. Don’t matter, I’ll just wing it.

Milk truck was starting to show lots of small spots of surface rust. On white, that just didn’t work back then. And I painted it Dandy Lion Yellow (see pictures), that was a Mopar Viper color. As you can see REAL LOUD YELLOW. 

Little bit of time went by... Luke found another big window 59 with a 292 V8 “Y”block in it. Motor ran horrible. And Luke wanted a motor to build in hi school shop class (I believe last class to do so in the Waverly district). I gave him the 223 out of the milk truck.

The Y block ended up in the milk truck, after I had done a tune and gaskets. And still ran horribly. I remember looking down in the heat riser pipe and seeing flames in the exhaust manifold.

 Looking at the heads before I sent them, I was shocked to see how far the valves were seated in the valve seats. The edges of the valves were like razors. Someone had done a hack valve job thinking on this engine just to revive it to “one more time”.  I ended up sending off for a valve job.

I don’t know why or how, but I had 3 sets of heads for a 292 laying around, for the machinist to build one good set. 

Got those heads back and it ran like a top. Replace 2bbl manifold with a 4bbl. Put headers on it with some smitties....   it actually ran hard and sounded great.  Became a very dependable motor. Rumor on this very engine, was the past owner had put it in Lukes purchased other 59, after he had found it laying in a mud driveway for many years. 

Gaskets and a valve job later.... great motor. 

We had around for a number of years an old 4 cylinder mustang that was a college car..... something to drive to school. It had been Jake’s college car, and then Lukes college car. Was getting pretty tired, as it was far from new when we got it. It had a T 5 transmission.

Being we were pretty lucky on the paint and engine, now we were going to put a T 5 in it. 

Found a web site that adapted Y block bell housings to T 5 trannys and bought it. Next thing was tranny placement, and then rebuilding drive shaft to fit the tranny on the ‘59.

Now we had something!!!! out standing!! That torquey Y block seemed to love that T 5.... perfect couple. Drove great, looked great, and sounded sweet. It was far from a show vehicle, but was a nice looking fun driver. 

One day one of my LTT working buddies (Paul Anderson) wanted to know if I wanted bucket seats out of a Square body super cab conversion. He wanted to put a bench back in it. I think we paid $$25 for both.  Looked good, no tears or stains.

Overall the 59 was a great lil ride..

Lincoln for a couple of years attracted, a large National Hot Rod tour. They’d hang out and tear up the streets of Lincoln for 2 days. Was a huge event the cops were not even close to prepared for the first year.

About 2 days before the second year of this event, Josh decided I needed to paint flames on the milk truck for this event.    Uh.... thanx Josh.. just as much my fault for agreeing to do it.

Thus the purple flames. This color came about by mixing up all the colors I had on the shelf...  didn’t look bad at all. 

Josh got out of hi school and it sat many years outside and in my barn. A couple of parts robbed off of it. My hopes were that Josh was going to want to go back and revisit the milk truck. Josh at that time had lost ALL interest in that truck by then.

Ended up selling to a fellow Gana employee who bought it for the tires and wheels. He then sold it rumored to someone out side of Waverly. I haven’t seen it since sold... 

The past is history, but sometimes I wish I had held onto it. Anymore work to it was going to be major, body work wise. Engine drive train, probably ok. 

Had a ton of fun with that truck... so did 2 of my boys. 

I’ve still got these pictures, and all of the memories. Can’t take the memories away from me.

[ultramaga]

Cottage core is pretty big, so I don't think that it has disappeared. But media companies are not inclined to promote anticonsumerism.

Heck, ad blocking has many fans now. The rage from YouTube that people don't want their awful ads is very amusing. I routinely get ads for products I could not possibly use. This is despite them knowing what sex etc I am.

Targeted ads should be pushing science fiction etc at me as those are thing I watch and buy.

It's weird that the ads in the magazines I bought as a kid better understood me. Somehow they scraped off all this data and learnt less than nothing.

But I guess they can't acknowledge that men are not women, that we like visuals of hot women and heroic action.

How can you target a demographic when you have that ideological baggage dragging you down?

This stuff was in the science fiction mags I bought as a child, and made me a lifetime purchaser. Where's that equivalent understanding? All marketing departments do now is try to pander to Leftists who, by definition, don't want to pay for things.

So they make stuff that repels the few people who would actually be paying customers, and they fail, and just pander even harder...

In the past, I would go to a cinema blind and reasonably expect to find something I liked. Now I try to watch streaming and only see shows by people that want my kind dead.

I used to be a doctor who fan, to the point of being in a club with someone who is now a writer. Now I put it on, only to be lectured at that I cannot be on the mental level of "a female presenting person" - they even made the claim that the godlike Doctor was still innately inferior to a trannie.

Doctor Who merch was big business and it kept the ABC afloat. When was the last time you saw someone in a doctor who t shirt?

All the old big franchises - star trek, star wars, doctor who - they don't appear in the shops here now and even DND vanished from gaming stores - except for bg3.

I think that bg3 was a titanic success, not because it is better than its predecessors, but because the rivals were harder Leftist. I haven't seen anything too egregious compared to most triple a games.

So anti consumerist movements are still open - in the Conservative side of politics. And those selling stuff have become unknowingly anti consumerist, alienating core customers and endlessly chasing an ideological and racial purity movement that innately hates capitalism as a core tenet.

So when a company actually makes a half decent product without spitting hatred at potential customers, it does well. People go and see the keanu reeves action flicks. They still make money. Recently, Reacher seems to be pretty successful.

It's not that customers don't want to exchange goods for services - it's that Leftism means THE MESSAGE is the focus, and if the customers don't like it, they can go elsewhere - and that is said openly by the writers of DC and Marvel, they say it on record, and then are flabbergasted that the sales collapse.

The simplest way to be an anti consumer is to be a CUSTOMER, to leave bad reviews - and good - where deserved - and to boycott those brands pushing for your obliteration.

All customers want is a little respect.

But we get Rings of Power instead....

It's crazy that Kafka was writing that stuff abt bureaucracy in like the 20s. When it was still a baby. I guess back then it was a dragon you could fight. But the dragon ate us, we live inside it now

[daffydaphsis]

So many lists have dead links. So many favorites just when *poof* This is a list of my favorite vids that are still working…for now!

Which is your fav? Let me know in DM. ENJOY!!!

Amazing Sissy Video (A fav…cum on i like it like it like it!)

Be A Little Sissy Faggot

Birthday Cake

Black And Bareback

Broken Limp Bimbos Hypno

Broken Limp Clitty Maker 3

Broken Limp Clitty Sissy Hypno Trainer

Cum Whore 3

Deepslutpuppy - 06 Britney Spears Cum Trainer - [No Captions] (never get tired of this one)

Delicious Babes (hot clips and fun throbbing music on this one!)

Do Me Like That

Don't Think, Slut (brainz? What brainz??)

Emperorhypnos - Sissy Maker Iii

Gimme More

Girlfriend (This one plays over and over in my sissy brain!)

Goal in Life (Always want to go down)

Gynodrome Sissy Life 1 (U can just feel the longing)

Hentai Sissy Hypno - Submit To Cock

He Rules Your World, Sissy Hypno PMV (oh yes DADDY, YOU totally do!!)

His#1 Sissies Wanna Go Get Some

His#6 Made To Suck Cock

His#7 Control

How You Love Me ©

HypnoTraining A Young Sissy Slut

I’m Your (Sissy) Hooker PM

Kissyourman (Just Kissing…A fav of mine)

Like a Girl (luv 2 do everything like a gurl!)

Material Sissy Girl

Pansexual Sissy Slut Cam Whore Hypno Edging Trainer One

Permanent Sissification

Positive Feminization Trainer

Sex Has Made You Stupid (well….duhhh!)

Shemale Desire 11

Sissy Candy Shop

Sissy Hypno 2

Sissy Hypno 4 (Sooo ready to have YOU take over control Daddy!)

Sissy Fucked (Great messages with music)

Sissy Game

Sissies Love Cock

Sissy Love - Dress'in Up (Amateur Crossdresser PMV)

Sissy Love 1

Sissy Love 3

Sissy Sluts Get Down (we sure do!)

Sissy Trainers - Sienna Grace

Sissydestiny (HA HA HA HA!)

Sissymaker Part 2 (Joy of being a sissy slut!)

Sissy Sex Fantasy (soo high on Daddy’s Cock and Cum!)

Soft And Limp Clitty Hypno

Submit To Alpha Males

Suck Fuck Reward Sissy Hypno Trainer (The sissy way of life in one hypno)

Take The Next Step

TS Love Disease C (Awesome mix of music and clips..sooo HOT)

This Is How You're Supposed To Treat Shemales (So true!)

Tranny Seduction

Upskirt Bareback Teen

Worship Cocks Sissy

[correctional-transition]

What dating platforms would you recommend for an mtf fag on hormones?

Also any fashion advice for a tranny turned femboy twink?

Honestly in terms of dating platforms I have no idea. I suppose you have the typical grindr and tinder but no matter what you choose you should state your intentions I feel.

In terms of fashion advice I've been thinking of curating a little "shopping list" of clothes for masc boys, fem boys, masc girls, fem girls. What does everyone think about this? I'd make sure to make it as accessible as possible for everyone in all countries 😁